


It only takes a (Christmas Eve) moment

by Alphawave



Series: The universe sings [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Harold is half Chinese, Harold's apartment is in Hong Kong btw, I put an extraordinary amount of research into Dutch and Chinese christmas customs and phrases, If I got any of them wrong let me know, M/M, These two old farts are so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 01:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20462825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: Siebren and Harold spend their first christmas eve as a couple together in Harold's apartment. For this pair of middle-aged men, that means ugly sweaters, movies, and a lot of kissing.





	It only takes a (Christmas Eve) moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldstupidtemplar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=oldstupidtemplar).

> _You guys can find me on tumblr [@alphawave-writes](alphawave-writes.tumblr.com/) or on twitter [@alphawave13](https://twitter.com/Alphawave13). I'm super open to discuss Sigma x Harold stuff, (and might even write a fic or two if you guys inspire me :P)_
> 
> _This fic was done for [@Stupid Templar](https://twitter.com/StupidTemplar), who wanted me to write a fic based on their Christmas Sigma x Harold pictures [here](https://twitter.com/StupidTemplar/status/1165321886596837377)! Go check them out if you haven't. Their art is the bomb, and has definitely been an inspiration for me. I was tempted to do a fic based on the Christmas pictures way before they contacted me, so it's super great I have an excuse to write it XD_

It only takes a (Christmas Eve) moment

If Siebren thought Horizon One’s Christmas decorations was excessive, Harold’s apartment was in a league of its own. A Christmas tree was adorned with the traditional ornaments and also various coloured paper chains—a remnant of Harold’s half-Chinese heritage. Wax candles had been lit and burnt away, leaving behind the lingering scent of gingerbread. If he peeked through the doorway, a basket of apples wrapped in colourful packaging paper lied in a tiny basket on Harold’s kitchen countertop, side by side with a variety of snacks and desserts. Fairy lights line the backwall of Harold’s living room, opposite a small couch and a TV.

On a table in the corner of the room, Siebren noticed a stack of books on zoology and animal biology. Next to them was a single framed photograph. Siebren remembered this picture. It was taken months ago back on Horizon One, less than a week before he and Harold were to head back to Earth. In the photo, Harold smiled toothily at the camera, two thumbs pointing up while Siebren himself smirked beside him, eyes scrunched up to give an expression that’s halfway between coy and smug.

Siebren only realized he had picked up the photograph when he heard footsteps behind him. He quickly replaced the photograph on the table as he turned around to face Harold. He was wearing what many university students called a ‘christmas dad’ outfit. His thick rimmed glasses matched horrendously well with his green Christmas sweater, where a caricature of a gorilla sat side by side of two snowmen.

Compared to his simple red sweater adorned with stars, Siebren looked almost fashionable. “I think you win the ugly sweater contest,” he smiled.

“Heaven forbid I look good on Christmas Eve,” Harold chuckled. His eyes glanced to the photograph, his laughter fading into a warm smile. “Like the picture?”

“The-the photo?” Siebren cleared his throat loudly, averting his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Siebren, I know you saw it.” Harold grabbed the photo and gazed upon it fondly. Siebren stood behind Harold, looking down on the photo from Harold's shoulder. “You looked good,” Harold said.

“I look smug,” Siebren muttered.

“You look handsome." He placed the photo back, turned around, and stole a kiss from Siebren’s cheek. “This one turned out quite nicely, actually. I'm thinking of taking it to the shop and framing it.”

Siebren blushed. “Really? I-I mean, that’s not necessary. I wouldn’t want to impose.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“It's a good photo. We look cute.” Harold waved Siebren to follow him to the kitchen. “Come on over. I managed to find a store that sells _stroopwafels_ here in Hong Kong_. _Probably not as great as your homemade ones, but they’ll do in a pinch, right?”

Siebren stared at the photo, his cheeks still pink. He didn’t have the guts to ask Harold why he went through the effort of printing and framing that particular photo. Sure, they were dating, but for less than a year. He didn’t think he had that much impact on Harold’s life—not enough to warrant a framed photo of his face in Harold’s home, at least. A man’s home is a sacred, special place, after all. A single photo on a man’s living room, when there were no other photos in sight, that was something significant.

“Siebren, come on. You said you’d make me your boozy eggnog.”

“C-coming,” Siebren stuttered before heading for the kitchen. His lips pursed. “And it’s called _advocaat_.”

It was clear from the spotlessness of Harold’s kitchen that the man didn’t cook often. The fridge had few edible food items, the pantry mostly consisted of non-perishables, and the pots and pans were a bit too spotless. Still, Harold’s kitchen was as organized as his desk, so it didn’t take long for Siebren to get the ingredients he needed: egg yolks, salt, sugar, brandy and vanilla extract. Harold watched from the opposite side of the kitchen island, chewing on a gingerbread biscuit. Siebren knew better than to ask Harold for help in the kitchen. 

As he cooked the ingredients in a pot, his eyes couldn’t help but drift to the lone hallway, where two doors sat. One was the apartment’s sole bathroom, and the other was Harold’s bedroom. The very same bedroom he was expected to sleep in tonight, within the covers of the bed, next to Harold’s sleeping form. A new wave of heat crept up his cheeks and down his chest.

It wasn’t a new thing for the two of them to sleep together, but that was all that ever occurred, never anything more. It was different back on Horizon One because they were on a space station where professionalism and thin doors were the standard, where sleeping side by side on the same bed is tantamount to scandal. That was as far as they allowed themselves to bend the rules, if not out of fear of losing their jobs then to protect the tentative peace of the moon base. But now he was here in Harold’s apartment, in Harold’s domain. Horizon One’s rules didn’t matter here. They could be as intimate as they wanted to. Trouble was, Siebren didn’t want to be more intimate. All he wanted to do tonight was curl up by Harold’s side and dream pleasant dreams. He wasn’t sure if Harold felt the same way now that they were back on Earth.

He filled various mugs with the bright orange _advocaat_ mixture, being careful not to spill anything on the pristine kitchen countertop. Harold helped him put them into the fridge where they will refrigerate. Afterwards, they made themselves comfortable on Harold’s couch. Harold turned on the TV to a web streaming service before passing the remote to Siebren.

His eyes lingered on Siebren’s feet. “You know, you can take off your socks if you want, Siebren.”

“Really? Finally.” Overeagerly, Siebren whipped the socks off his feet and stuffed them into his pant pocket. By his side, Harold stifled a laugh. Siebren frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just so cute how excited you got over it,” Harold giggled.

“Bare feet promote better circulation for the legs.” Harold gave him a withering smile. Siebren added, with a pout, “My feet get sweaty.”

“There it is,” Harold laughed. His arm wrapped around Siebren’s neck.

Siebren’s response was to wrap his arm around Harold’s waist as he flicked through the meager listings. He wasn’t completely surprised that Harold’s taste largely seemed to compromise of Asian historical dramas, not that Siebren was a fan of them. Documentaries and sci-fi shows were more his thing. He clicked on search. “Any preference?”

“Nothing really.” Harold rested his head on Siebren’s shoulder. “Something simple with a nice story. Doesn’t necessarily have to be Christmas related.”

“I believe what you just told me is a preference,” Siebren smirked.

Harold rolled his eyes, amused. “Just pick the movie, tiger.”

Siebren’s eyes narrowed a little as he clicked in and out of a few movies, none of them satisfying his tastes. After a while, he clicked on a bunch of boxes in various different filters. The counter of available movies on the top left hand corner ticked down.

“Siebren, you’re not searching for a research paper. This is just a movie,” Harold laughed.

“But how else are we going to optimize our movie watching? By highlighting key words, sorting by genre, rating, and ranking, we shall theoretically get the perfect movie that will satisfy both our tastes. Observe.”

Millions of movies came down to just one. In the genre listing it’s titled as ‘vintage’ and ‘animated’. A rusted, cubical robot waved happily against the backdrop of what appeared to be another planet, the Earth glowing an ethereal blue in the distance. An old Disney film called 'Wall-E'.

The two men paused, looked at each other, and shrugged. Siebren pressed play on the remote, and the two of them curled up into each other, pressed so close that they could feel each other’s body heat. Harold is comfortable and warm in his arms, a welcoming distraction from the mysteries of the universe. 

The movie turned out to be surprisingly good fun, although perhaps not for the reasons intended by its creators. Harold was overanalyzing the movie’s themes as it relates to the Adam and Eve myth, while Siebren makes a game out of pointing out all the scientific errors within the movie. Harold kept his mouth shut when the plant was introduced, but became very vocal once the spaceship shot up into space.

“Aren't there sensors for this? Did they not refuel the spaceship?”

“I know,” Siebren laughed, amused to see Harold get so passionate. “And this is supposed to be for a scouting mission for a single robot.”

“I’m one person, and I've been in spaceships 5 times smaller than that. Why don’t I get a gigantic missile like that when I go up to space?”

“Maybe if you become a robot, you’ll get special treatment.”

Harold slapped his own forehead, snickering. “Heavens, no. I rather like being human.” He turned to Siebren, eyes low, his voice dripped with innuendo. “Some things you just can’t do as a robot.”

Siebren gulped loudly, keeping his face forward to the TV. Harold let it slide, sniggering to himself, quieting as his attention was inevitably drawn back to the movie.

The rest of the movie passed by in relative silence, the two of them only piping up if they saw something worth discussing. Still, even the scientific improbability of a colony of humans traveling the stars for thousands of years could not distract them from the love story that was core to the movie. Though the two robots never said a word, their love was as clear as day. In a strange way, it reminded Siebren so much of his romance with Harold. So much of their love was expressed through actions and song, not words. 

In the final moments of the movie, the main character robot had reverted to factory settings, removing the personality and autonomy that made it human. Siebren reached for Harold’s hand, the contact leaving electric sparks. He sucked in a breath, his eyes darting to the side. Harold brushed his hand on his jaw, pulling his head to face him. The two robots shared a tender kiss, their love restored, the Earth panned away to reveal the dirt and debris that floated outside its atmosphere, but Siebren didn’t see any of this. All he could see was his own image, reflected in Harold’s wanting eyes. ‘It only takes a moment’ from Hello, Dolly! echoed throughout the room as Harold ran his thumb over Siebren’s chin.

_And that is all, that love’s about_

_And we’ll recall, when times runs out_

Siebren’s eyes closed as he felt the hot breath hit his cheeks, calculated the estimated time of impact when lips crashed against lips. Harold looped his arms past his waist, pressing pause on the remote. The movie had been paused, but the lyricists still kept singing their love song in Siebren’s head, their voices the only thing Siebren can hear aside from his own heavy breaths.

_That it only took a moment _

_To be loved_

_A whole life long_

Siebren barely registered the faint scent of apples before lips—then tongue—pressed against his mouth with the impact of a meteor. His hands felt for Harold’s shoulders, bracing from the shudders of the aftershock. The string lights illuminated Harold in prismatic colours, his tongue a solar flare that burned Siebren from the inside out. Siebren’s mouth eagerly opened, flicking his tongue, desperate to mimic the very actions that threatened to unravel the very molecules that made up his body. He was at Harold’s mercy, intoxicated on Harold’s taste, trapped underneath Harold’s love.

Harold shifted beside him, lifting one leg so he could straddle Siebren. His smile was small but indulgent. His eyes twinkled like the stars. His hands trailed down to Siebren’s stomach, hovering over Siebren’s thick thighs, fingers twitching in anticipation. Whispers of Harold's lust hovered in the air, choking the once-clear air.

It's all too much for Siebren. Too much, too soon.

His eyes flew open, a hand pushing Harold away slightly. The distance between them widened by two centimetres, but it was enough to make Harold stop and take pause. Harold stared at him dumbly; clarity had yet to filter into his body.

“Siebren?” He whispered breathily. “Do you want to take this to the bedroom?”

“I…n-no, I…” He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted this, this moment, this kiss, but no more than that. He wasn’t ready for what came next. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready.

“Siebren?” Harold repeated.

“_Mijn Schatje, _I…” Siebren sighed. “I’m…I’m sorry. I’m not ready for…” he pouted. “M-maybe I should find a hotel for tonight instead.”

“W-what? Why?”

“I know what you want. What you want to do to me, o-or what you want me to do to you, but I’m not ready. If you ask me to sleep with you, I’ll just lead you on and…well...” Siebren coughed loudly into his fist, his cheeks crimson in shame.

“Siebren, did you…I didn’t mean to…” Harold’s eyebrows scrunched together. He gazed down to where he sat on Siebren’s lap and took the glasses off his face, placing them on the side table beside the sofa. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, fingertips disappearing into chocolate brown strands. "I didn't mean to push you."

Silence hung between their bodies, thick and impenetrable. All they could do was stare at each other, trying to interpret meaning and emotion behind shimmering eyes.

Siebren ran a soft hand over Harold’s stubble, tracing a pattern of his own creation. Harold leaned into Siebren’s touch, his eyes flutter closed. Their heartbeats slowed down to the beat of the metronome. The tension slowly evaporated from their shoulders.

“I should have mentioned this earlier,” Siebren whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Harold shook his head. “Don’t apologise. You’ve got your limits, I understand. That won’t stop me from loving you.”

“I still want to continue this,” Siebren said. “The kissing, the touching. What we usually do.” He looked away bashfully. “Nothing more than that, if that's okay with you.”

Harold smiled, relieved. “I understand perfectly, my _x­­īn g__ā__n._”

Siebren had never heard Harold use that particular nickname before, but he thought it must be important when Harold’s hands pressed on his chest and kissed him delicately on the lips. He kissed back eagerly, pulling Harold so close he could hear his heartbeat thumping in his chest. Fingers glide over Siebren's shoulders, relaxing him. Siebren hummed in pleasure. Yes, this was what he wanted.

They caressed each other, give and take, tracing over cheeks and necks and shoulders and arms. Harold tilted his head to the side, silent permission for Siebren to leave his mark on his skin. And Siebren took it, sucking lightly, just enough for Harold to sigh deeply. 

“Are you OK with this?” Siebren breathed into Harold’s skin.

Harold’s eyes fluttered, a lazy smile growing. “I’ll be happy with anything as long as it’s from you,” he said. He meant every word , and Siebren knew it. He let out a quiet smile, glad and relieved that he had such a kind, wonderful man by his side.

Arms snaked around Siebren’s neck, pressing kisses on his jaw. “Harold,” he sighed.

“Stay,” he pleaded. “It’s cold outside.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. “It’s 18 degrees outside. I’m already sweating in this sweater,” he said.

“Then I’ll be cold without you.” His lips nibbled Siebren’s Adam’s apple. “Stay with me tonight. Please.”

Siebren responded with a kiss to the bridge of Harold’s nose and a smile. Siebren allowed himself to be led out of the living room, past the kitchen and the lone hallway to Harold’s quaint little bedroom. He had very little time to admire the plain bookshelf and the twinkling lights of the Hong Kong skyline before Harold pulled him to the bed. A laugh escaped Siebren’s throat as Harold wrapped his arms around his body, pressing the two of them so close he could feel the rise and fall of Harold’s chest. They didn't stop touching and kissing each other. 

It's hours when their kisses became less passionate and more lazy, their sighs and groans tinted with sleep. Harold traced his thumb over Siebren’s cheekbone, his eyes half-lidded and fond. “_N__ǐ__ de y__ǎ__n jing h__ě__n m__ě__i_,” Harold sighed.

Siebren smiled sleepily. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve got beautiful eyes,” Harold responded.

Siebren blushed. “And what about the other one you said earlier? Xin Gan, I think it was?” He probably butchered the pronounciation.

“A secret," Harold giggled.

Siebren hummed quietly to himself, enjoying the melody of Harold's soft laughter. This was what he wanted, to be in Harold’s arms like this, to hear the song of Harold's life thumping in his chest, constant and even. “May I say something in Dutch to you?” He asked quietly.

“Go for it.”

“_Ik hou van jou,_” he said. “_Mijn favoriete plekje is samen met jou zijn._”

“What does that mean?”

“A secret,” Siebren smirked.

Harold huffed, eliciting another quiet chuckle from Siebren. “I’ll find out one day,” Harold declared, his voice laced with mirth and joy. “Just you wait, I will take Dutch lessons, and I will find out what you're saying.”

“It’s good things, don't you worry, _mijn schatje_," he said. “Wonderful, magnificent things.”

They fell asleep like this, their limbs wrapped around the other, content smiles strewn across their face. Though Siebren was in Harold’s apartment, sleeping in Harold’s bed, he couldn’t help but feel like he had finally found a place he could call home. 

His dreams were short, and he forgot what happened in them when the morning rose, but he remembered that they were blissfully peaceful and pleasant. They pressed light kisses on each other's cheeks as they woke up, drank the _advocaat _Siebren made the night before from the fridge, and unwrapped the presents beneath Harold’s Christmas tree. Siebren got Harold a stuffed gorilla with glasses that bared more than a passing resemblance to Specimen 28. Harold in turn got him hot pink bamboo socks.

Siebren gave Harold a withering look. "Seriously?" he said, upon which the latter laughed.

Harold brought out a second gift hidden behind the couch—"the real present", he claimed. Siebren was careful to not rip the wrapping paper, revealing a simple but large cardboard box. Inside the box, nestled beneath the stuffing, was a framed photo. It’s a photo of the two of them—the very same photo that sat in the corner of Harold’s living room, in fact, only enlarged. The frame was painted bronze and adorned with classical architecture motifs, making the photo within seem more intimate.

"It was such a good photo I thought I should frame it," Harold said. He gazed fondly at the photo. "You really do look handsome here."

Now Siebren could see what Harold saw. As he gazed at his own, younger face, he didn’t look smug or cocky, as he initially thought. He looked like a man who was absolutely in love.

If he could glance at his reflection, he figured the same expression on the photo was stricken across his face.

Harold pecked Siebren on the cheek. His smile was warm and welcoming like the sunrise. “Merry Christmas, Siebren.”

“Merry Christmas,” Siebren smiled. He bit back a sniffle. Tears began to well up.

“Are you…are you crying?” Harold chuckled.

“N-no! It’s the Styrofoam you put in this box.” He cleared his throat excessively loud, a diversion to distract Harold while he blinked away the tears. “P-perhaps I need another cup of _advocaat_.”

“Oh, tiger, if only I knew the photo would get you so emotional," Harold laughed, louder than before. "You look so cute when you’re flustered.”

“I am not cute, Harold,” Siebren pouted, which only seemed to convince Harold even more that he was cute. The rest of the Christmas morning was Siebren trying (and failing) to explain to Harold why a middle-aged man of his stature and appearance could not be cute.

**Author's Note:**

> _The Wall-E ending song/Hello Dolly! song for your listening pleasure, '[It only takes a moment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8XJX19jjtI)'._
> 
> _Translations for the non-English phrases_
> 
> _Advocaat = boozy Dutch eggnog, but thick like custard_
> 
> _Xīn gān(心肝) = literally 'heart and liver' but is more along the lines of 'heart and soul'._
> 
> _Mijn schatje = 'my treasure'_
> 
> _Nǐ de yǎn jing hěn měi (你的眼睛很美)= 'you have beautiful eyes', as Harold said earlier. (He didn't lie about it)_
> 
> _Ik hou van jou = 'I love you'_
> 
> _Mijn favoriete plekje is samen met jou zijn = 'my favourite place to be is with you'_


End file.
